Nelson The Newsboy. Stratemeyer Edward

interfere. In half an hour the papers were all sold, and our hero turned the money over to Paul.

      "You ought to have something for selling the ten," said the little fellow.

      "Never mind; you keep the money, Paul. You'll need it, I know."

      "Thank you."

      "By the way, have you seen anything of Billy Darnley since yesterday noon?"

      "I saw him about two hours ago."

      "Here?"

      "Yes, he came off the boat from Brooklyn."

      "I'm sorry I missed him. Do you know where he went?"

      "Went to get some papers, I think. He stopped to talk to Len Snocks for a few minutes."

      "Humph! Did he give Len anything?"

      "I think he gave him a quarter."

      "I'm sorry I missed him. He stole five dollars from me yesterday—nearly all I had saved up."

      "Oh, Nelson! He ought to be arrested."

      "It wouldn't do any good. The police wouldn't believe me, and I haven't any witnesses, excepting a young lady I don't know."

      Len Snocks was leaving the vicinity, and now Nelson hastened after him. Soon he ranged up beside the big newsboy.

      "Len, I want to ask you a question."

      "Wot do you want now?" growled Len.

      "Where did Billy Darnley go after he came off the ferry?"

      At this question a crafty look came into Len Snocks' eyes.

      "Find out fer yerself—I haint answerin' questions," he growled.

      "Billy stole some of my money yesterday."

      "Dat aint none o' my affair, is it?"

      "I suppose not. But he gave some of it to you?"

      "Didn't give me a cent."

      "He was seen to give you money."

      "Ha! has dat Paul Randall been a-blabbin'?" cried Len savagely. "I'll fix him, if he has!"

      "You let Paul alone, or it will be the worse for you. Then you won't tell me where Billy went?"

      "I don't know. He didn't tell me nuthin'."

      Len Snocks would say no more, and satisfied that it would be time lost to question him further. Nelson hurried on and made his way back to the lunch-room.

      He was somewhat late, and as soon as he entered Sam Pepper began to storm at him. The man was in a worse humor than ever, and lashed our hero with his tongue every time he entered the kitchen.

      "Here I am a-breaking my back to make a living, and everything going wrong!" he muttered. "You ought to have been here an hour ago. I wanted some more meat from the butcher shop and two dozen more of pies. I think I'll shut up the place at the end of the week. An honest man can't git along, no matter how hard he tries. Now look out, or you'll smash those plates and glasses, and that'll be more money out of my pocket. Hang the lunch business, anyway!"

      But his troubles were not yet at an end. In his ill humor he served a customer with a steak that was both tough and half burnt. The customer refused to pay for the meat, and a quarrel ensued which ended in a fight. Two tables were overturned and the crockery smashed before the troublesome customer was ejected, and, in the meantime, several other customers slipped out without paying.

      "It's no use, Nelson; I'm going to give it up," growled Sam Pepper, when it was after two o'clock, and the run of midday trade had come to an end. "There are easier ways to make a living than by running a lunch-room."

      "Last night you spoke about a good game to make you rich," answered Nelson curiously, "What did you mean by that?"

      "When did I say that?"

      "When you came in and went to bed."

      "I don't remember it."

      "Well, you said it, and you said something about getting me to help you."

      "Did I say anything else?" asked Pepper in some alarm.

      "No."

      The man drew a breath of relief.

      "I must have been a bit off in my head, Nelson. You see I met some old friends, and they treated to champagne—and I'm not used to that any more. They make an easy living, they do."

      "Perhaps they can help you to something better."

      "They won't have to help me—if I've a mind to work as they work."

      "What do they do?"

      "Oh, they work on the principle that the world owes them a living, and they are bound to have it."

      "Of course they don't beg?"

      At this Sam Pepper burst into a loud laugh.

      "You're not so green as all that, Nelson."

      "Well, what do they do then?" persisted the boy.

      "Oh, a number of things! One runs a mail-order business. He is advertising two things just now. One is a steel engraving of Washington, indorsed by the government as a true picture of the first President, mounted on cardboard, all ready for framing, for fifty cents, and the other is a complete sewing machine for one dollar."

      "How can he sell a sewing machine for a dollar?"

      "When some fool sends on a dollar for the machine he sends him a needle, and when another fool sends fifty cents for the steel engraving he sends him a postage stamp picture of Washington stuck on a bit of cardboard."

      "Oh!"

      "He's smart, and the law can't get hold of him," went on Sam Pepper. "Another of the men is selling tips on the races. If his customer wins he gets a percentage. He gets one fool to bet one way and another fool to bet the other way, and no matter which wins he gets his share of the prize."

      "I should think he would have a job, looking for fools," said the newsboy. "Folks ought to know better."

      "The world is full of people who want to get something for nothing, and these men know it. But they don't make much of a pile. That's got to be made in another way."

      "What way?"

      "There are lots of ways, Nelson; some good and some bad. Ever been down in Wall Street?"

      "Yes, but I don't know anything of the business there."

      "Folks down there gamble in stocks and bonds, and such like. Sometimes they squeeze a poor man out of everything he's got, but they do it so as the law can't touch 'em—and there's where they have the advantage over an East Side gambler, who runs the risk of being arrested if his victim squeals. But Wall Street aint any better than the East Side, for all that."

      "Some nice gentlemen in Wall Street, though," said Nelson reflectively.

      "A high hat don't make an honest man, Nelson; you ought to know that by this time. They are all thieves and swindlers, and an honest man has no show against 'em. If you want to be rich, you've got to be like 'em!" went on Sam Pepper, bringing his fist down on the table at which he sat. "You can't make anything bein' honest."

      To this the newsboy remained silent. He had heard such talk before, so he was not as much shocked as he might otherwise have been.

      "I guess I'll go out and sell some evening papers," he said, after a pause, during which Sam Pepper seemed to sink into deep thought.

      "No, I don't want you to go out; I want to have a talk with you," answered Pepper. "There won't be no business for an hour or two, and I'll lock the door, so nobody can interrupt us. It's got to come sooner or later, and it might as well come now."

      CHAPTER V.

      NELSON SPEAKS HIS MIND

      Locking the front door to the lunch-room, Pepper came to the rear of the place, poured himself a glass of liquor and tossed it off, and then sank in a chair by the last table.

      "Sit down, Nelson," he said.

      The boy sat down and gazed curiously at the man before him.